


no suits

by specialmouse



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-26 06:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19762663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/specialmouse/pseuds/specialmouse
Summary: When it comes time to create a game plan, Erik ran into resistance from both the agency and his potential partner.





	no suits

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my drafts for so long and im sick so i decided to finish and actually post somethihng. maybe it's incoherent idk!

“What do you mean, ‘no suits?’”

Charles' tone was less accusatory than it was curious. Even so Erik couldn’t stop his nose wrinkling in contempt.

So far, the telepath wasn't making a good case for Erik sticking around. If they were meant to comply with the CIA's regulations and expectations, they'd have a full team by the next presidential election... as if Schmidt would let them get that far. Teamwork was only effective if every member was on the same page, and at that point it seemed that Charles was already a few chapters behind.

Not that Erik could blame him. From what he knew about the other man, he was likely to march alongside authority as far and as long as a broad sense of practicality was ensured. 

“Yeah, what _does_ that mean?” probed the agent behind the desk. Erik peered out of the doorway to see if he had a nameplate hiding amidst the clutter of papers and opened folders. When he couldn’t find one, he shrugged and straightened up again. 

“I think that you and I would both agree that being interrogated by CIA agents would be rather… frightening.” The man had already begun to open his mouth again so Erik added, “Especially if one has already been forced into social exclusion.”

“Not all of us have been forced into ‘social exclusion.’ And even if they were… they’re not exactly the type of people we’d be going after anyway,” said Charles. He turned his body to face away from the agent and towards Erik. “Although… I do agree that a welcome wagon comprised of G-Men is… at the very least poorly constructed. I’m sure between the three of us, we could find an acceptable medium. Things aren’t always black and white, after all.”

Erik let out a sharp, frustrated exhale. This concentration on compromise made his jaw clench, lest something come out that would get him in trouble with the law. The second to last thing he needed a bunch of Americans on his case. In dead last was Charles’ assistance. 

His nose wrinkled at the stench of cleaning solution and cigarettes emanating from the linoleum as he stepped into the room. Inches away from the agent’s left hand was a smoldering ashtray.

“I guess I just don’t see how this endeavor would be effective, without CIA… involvement,” said the agent. Involvement was a carefully chosen word. Erik kept his scoff to himself. “I mean… I just don’t get it.” 

The agent hadn’t stopped fidgeting since Erik arrived. He was a observably nervous man; short in stature and round in shape, with thick black glasses perched atop a sweaty nose. They threatened to slip down its steep slope with every twitch of his mouth.

“I suppose it wouldn’t make sense,” Charles said. “Two people don’t make the most practical recruitment team... **.** "

There it was.

“Practicality means nothing when people won’t open the door.” Erik shifted to lean against the wall, Charles' eyes following the long line of his body.

Charles let his next breath out his mouth in a huff. "Richard, I have to say that he brings up a good point." 

His name was Richard. A chuckle escaped Erik's throat that he barely managed to disguise as a cough.

"You _have_ to say it?" said Erik. The agent said nothing but it seemed that it was the first thing he and Erik had agreed on since the conversation started. 

The frustration in the room was palpable as Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes clenched shut. "It's a figure of speech."

"Perhaps I was just under the impression you were against me."

"I’m not sure how that was impressed upon you," said Charles, "Seeing how I've been on your side from the very beginning."

That shouldn't have been reassuring, seeing as how Charles had been almost staunchly against Erik up to this point... but still he felt his shoulders relax. Charles gave him a small, nearly imperceptible smile. It had lasted no longer than a heartbeat, but Erik felt his anger draining from his chest and out the soles of his shoes, as if that quirk of Charles’ lips had pulled the plug keeping it inside.

Erik shook his head. "So it seems we've come to an agreement? No agents?"

"Hardly!" Richard exclaimed. "Let me remind you that you're in another country, Mr. uh, Mr. Lehn-sheer."

Gritting his teeth, Erik said, “Lehn- _sure._ And by way of your... emphasis on the topic, it’s clear you don’t understand the terror of a man in uniform.”

“I’m not sure where you’re from, but in America, a man in a uniform means safety,” the agent said. 

“I was born in Poland, parents are from Dusseldorf.”

He still looked confused. 

"It's in Germany," Charles said quietly, his hands folded in his lap, gaze fixated on the specks in the linoleum. 

Richard looked him up and down, his beady eyes sweeping over his face. They narrowed. “And how old are you, exactly?”

The man was a pedant. Fantastic. Erik could entertain pedants. “Thirty-two. Thirty-three in April.”

“Ah.” Sweaty fingers wiped at his brow. 

“So you can understand my concern.”

“I guess I can understand it, sure.” 

“Oh, stop it!” The sudden sound startled Erik, his eyes going wide. Richard's had done the same. Charles had stood up, his chair knocked a few feet away. “This is ridiculous.”

“This _is_ ridiculous!” Richard echoed. He crossed his arms in a comical display of petulance.

 _“Both--”_ Charles stopped himself and sighed, his hands patting at the air. “Both of you. All of us. We all bring up good points and that’s why this is complicated. Richard, I understand it would be rather inefficient for us to just hop in a car and ride across the country. Erik… **.** ” Calmness seeped into his voice. “Your concerns about perception are… definitely something we need to keep in mind.”

The young man sighed again, his expression torn. Quiet, he murmured, “Definitely need to keep them in mind.”

“It’s more than _perception,”_ said Erik, not feeling as if he’d won yet. “Marching into people’s homes and demanding--”

“We wouldn’t be _demanding--”_

“If you’re being asked by the fucking CIA, that’s not an offer!” boomed Erik, his hands clenching the open air as they looked for something to grab onto. He settled for the doorframe behind him. The fingernails of his left hand dug into the grey paint on the other side of the wall. “It’s _conscription,_ is what it is.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying.” Richard was standing now, his frame even less threatening than it had when in his chair. “The CIA aren’t… we aren’t…” Erik didn’t need Charles’ help to know that he was trying not to say the Schutzstaffel. The agent sighed. “This isn’t conscription.”

The cogs in Charles’ mind were clearly turning at their highest speeds as he tried to concoct some mutual ground. His eyes flitted between the agent and the mutant before finally landing on the latter. With his lips pursed and his hands on his hips, he looked more like a primary school teacher than a man with a doctorate.

“Hell, Charles, just say it!” Erik had half a mind to up and leave anyways, and this intricate dance designed to tiptoe around the politics wasn’t achieving much, if anything.

“Fine! Fine,” Charles snapped, his hands flinging into the air in frustration. “Richard, I have to agree with Erik, and I don’t know what that means exactly, for the mission and whatnot, but what I do know is that if we send a cadre of CIA agents to people’s doors it’s going to scare them. Perhaps irreparably... **.** " 

Charles trailed off with gritted teeth.

“Mr. Xavier--”

“Respectfully, Richard, I'm done with this for right now, I haven’t eaten since yesterday, and... **.** " He steeled himself and opened his eyes with a more polite look. "You’re free to join me if you’d like to discuss other aspects of our plan moving forward.”

Charles turned back to Erik, watching him for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, he heard it: _Does that prove anything?_ The other man's lips hadn’t moved. By the time Erik blinked, Charles Xavier was out the door, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Erik stared at the space he'd left until Richard unceremoniously kicked him out of his office.

___

He found Charles in the base's cafeteria, looking through case files--Erik realized with a jolt that they were the same ones on Schmidt that he'd tried to steal the night before--and stabbing at the limp pieces of lettuce that seemed to constitute a salad. It couldn't have possibly been appetizing.

Not sure what to say, Erik stood at the entrance for just the right amount of time to make it look like he came to watch the man eat. What was he supposed to say? Thank you? That's not how arguments worked, and he didn't feel like thanking Charles for realizing he was right.

"I didn't have to agree with you," Charles said, his back still turned to Erik. Anger flared in his stomach as he realized Charles was reading his mind again. "Well, _you_ certainly weren't going to say anything." 

He turned around on the bench and leaned his head on his hand. "Have you even thought about what your idea entails? _No suits_ means anyone who's still involved with the project that isn't an agent. That makes the two of us."

"Raven...," Erik began, but stopped himself. Of course Charles wasn't going to let his kid sister travel across the country with them. He sighed. "It's not going to be easy, but I think that's the point. if a hoard of those men showed up at my door and 'asked' me to join, I would slam the goddamn door."

Charles' face didn't move. "And if _I_ showed up at your door? What difference would it make? Oh, it's another one of my kind, which _must_ mean it's safe..."

"Think about it, Charles!" Erik took another step into the room. "These people don't even know that they _have_ a kind. At the very least they're owed an introduction to what they are _before_ they're carted off to some CIA base in northern Virginia!"

He still didn't show any emotion. Instead, Charles turned back to the case file and patted the space beside him. Erik watched him but didn't move.

"Come here," he said, flipping through the papers in the manila folder. "Did you get a chance to read this last night?"

Erik hadn't.

"Then come here."

"Stay out of my head."

"Fine," said Charles. "Even so, I assume you would like to see this."

With a grumble he dropped down into the seat beside him. Charles handed him a document Erik had only seen with black bars littered across the page. He scanned it, his eyes widening.

"He's involved with _Cuba?"_

"That's the consensus." Charles stretched his back. He seemed bored, like he was showing Erik something he should already know. "Although, from what we see _here--"_ he handed Erik another page, "--Castro isn't even aware of him. Moira told me this has more to do with tensions between us and the Soviets than anything else."

This went much further than Erik had thought. It made sense, sure--putting the rockets in Cuba would exacerbate tensions between the United States and Cuba, the Soviet Union and the United States, Poland and the Soviet Union... it was a master plan of world war. Schmidt would have to be associated with it in some way, if not orchestrating the whole ordeal...

In a moment, everything slotted into place. The motive wasn't just domination, it was _chaos._ Pure randomness, confusion, and carnage. He hadn't joined the Nazi Party because he agreed with them... he'd even told Erik as such. They were more than strong: they represented unpredictable violence.

Nausea overwhelmed him as the cafeteria began to dissolve into a mirage of dull grays and off-whites. _Gott, oh mein Gott..._

Which was worse, violence born from ideology, or violence for the sake of it? His mother's face materialized in his swimming head, then it was gone, she was behind him, he couldn't see her, she was terrified, but she _believed..._ what was this _for?_

Why?

"It's not something you have to understand." Charles' voice cut through the swimming colors and half-formed memories. Erik could feel his pupils dilate as they focused, the sensation almost painful. "I don't think it's meant to be understood."

"I said to stay out of my _head,"_ he hissed, and it was then that he realized his eyes were brimmed with tears. Fuck! he thought. He scanned the room for any other company, but they were alone. Perhaps on purpose. His jaw clenched.

"I'm sorry," he said, but Erik knew he didn't mean it. "I'm not trying to let someone rip apart government property, though."

Erik looked around himself a second time and realized that Charles' lunch tray had somehow crunched itself into an indescribable shape, sharp edges piercing the table and shooting out into the air; some of them were dangerously close to touching Charles. 

He extended a hand and flattened it as best he could, trying to bring it back to its original shape. Charles placed a hand on his and smiled.

"I don't really care about that," he said. "The pipes, however... **.** "

Plumbing was hanging out of the walls. "Shit."

"Do you think you can fix it, or should I call someone?" The answer to the first question was almost definitely no, and the second... he was already in such bad graces with the head of the base. He frowned.

"Would you care if I said no to both?"

Charles thought about it for a moment, his eyes shining with lightheartedness. "I wouldn't mind sleeping on something other than a cot for a few days... so no, I wouldn't."

Erik gave him a weak smile and at least put the pipes back into the walls, approximating where they would've been before he'd torn them out of the wall.

"Sorry," Erik said. "I..."

"You don't need to explain yourself."

"What, because you already have an answer?"

"Because I don't particularly care," said Charles. "Friends don't have to explain themselves to friends, Erik."

He froze. "You... _why?"_

"What do you mean, why? Do you not think I'm your friend? I would understand, but... do know that my feelings would be hurt," he said.

"You think of _me_ as your friend?" The idea was astounding, considering Erik's behavior in the past hour, let alone the past seventy-two.

Charles raised an eyebrow. "I saved you from drowning yourself _and_ got you through CIA processing _and_ got you temporary citizenship and I--"

"Isn't that more basis for _partnership_ than friendship? Why be friends with me?" The notion was so confusing to Erik that he couldn't even muster up the energy for the anger at Charles continually breaking their mind-reading agreement.

"You're a good person and I like you," said Charles. "There doesn't need to be much else."

"Oh," said Erik. 

It'd been years since he'd had... a friend. How pathetic and cliche that sounded, but it was true. And perhaps he had earned the right to say it without it being a cliche. He _had_ beenhunting war criminals across South America and the United States, not a lonely teenager. 

"So...," he said, his voice wavering against his will, "is that why you defended me back there?"

Charles snorted. "Yes...?"

"Oh," he repeated. "I thought..."

"People have better intentions than you think." Charles smiled. "Even Richard. He was planning on funding the trip out of his own pocket, you know."

"Shit, I--" Erik's cheeks flushed red. "Is that why you wanted to...?"

"Mm. Although, I could probably do the same, if we really wanted to take a road trip all by ourselves...," he murmured, his voice going low in contemplation. "You'd probably just need to agree to share a room. I'm not planning on bankrupting myself for something we could've had government money for."

Erik groaned. "You don't need to rub it in."

"You know, Richard doesn't leave the facility until eight," Charles said, "I could go in there and announce a change in plans."

"You wouldn't." Erik rolled his eyes but he couldn't conceal his smile.

"And how do _you_ know?"

"Because you're my _friend,"_ said Erik. "Right?"

The two made eye contact, grey on blue. Blue smiled back. "Of course."

**Author's Note:**

> i really rushed the end could you not tell?
> 
> anyway go to my tumblr at teenelf.tumblr.com hehehe unfortunately im very ashamed of ... indulging ? in this pairing or any media really so you won't find a lot. HOWEVER if i get validation i might start posting more so. idk thats an incentive i guess
> 
> comments are my lifeblood! thanks gays!


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